DO |
rickshaw run blogs jan 2014 North to south pan-india on a glorified lawnmower
for our second run April 2015 (west - east across the top 3000+ Km @ 40km/hr) go to DO blogspot
Subject: Tally Ho! off we go; because living matters...
Hi dear #do family and friends, In acknowledgement of mental health awareness week Edward and I have launched fund raising for our Rickshaw Run Jaisalmer - Shillong India April 2015. To get kick-started, Cool Earth and Give A Little - the fund raising platform for the Live More Awesome Foundation need to know we are for real. Our #rickshaw run NZ beneficiary is the Live More Awesome Foundation, they help people deal with depression. In addition we support Cool Earth the event organisation benefiting from The Adventurists rickshaw run. Our goal with #coolearth is to save 14.3 acres of rain forest for the Awajun tribe in Peru. Please consider making a donation now on these links: http://givealittle.co.nz/donate/fundraiser/rickshawrun2015 100% of your donation through this link goes to Live More Awesome. http://www.coolearth.org/460/rickshaw-run-goodbye-curry-pie Saves forest for the Awajun, you can check out the map for our forest on the link. We personally pay all costs associated with this epic journey as we travel across India in a pimped up auto rickshaw in a matter of days. Any donations go entirely to these two great causes, we hope to generate awareness for them and support. In stage 1 in January 2014 we made it from the North of India, close to the Pakistani border all the way to Kerala in the South 3006 kms in two weeks. This time we travel West to East - Jaisalmer to Shillong; a similar distance… in less than 11 days. We depart NZ on April 1st… No fools here! That gives us just enough time to travel by plane, train, car, foot and maybe camel to the start line ready for 70 odd teams to depart on the 6th of April. From there we may not see many of them again. The run as always is unsupported and unrouted. It's a case of horn, brakes and good luck. And doing whatever it takes to #domore #bemore. It's hot dam hot in Rajasthan , there are likely to be bandits and detours …possibly through Nepal just to keep it all #mysterious. Shillong where we finish is the wettest place on the planet #lovely…we need to be tucked up in bed there by the 18th of April, home again in the Arrow less than 48 hours later. This is about making every moment count. Live More Awesome our chosen charity increase mental wellness. reduce stress and inspire people to #domore #bemore with inspiring initiatives, because living matters. Our fund raising page is under moderation. When we have three donations it will be fully accredited and able to be found in the Give A Little public category searches. This will widen our audience for support of this great organisation as they aim to improve mental well-being for New Zealanders. Givealittle requires the first 3 donations to a page as evidence of independent endorsement of trust and confidence in our fundraising activities, your donation would indicate that we support a valid cause and have integrity towards completion of this event. And that we are not scammers from Arrowtown or somewhere in India. Our 2014 Rickshaw Run from North to South; raised $2460.00 for Live More Awesome and 936 GBP for Cool Earth ( yep I can't find the symbol for that on my key board ). We realise that epic journeys inspire epic things. Setting a big audacious goal like this to start the year is inspirational. We would like to thank That's Life magazine for calling to interview us and their contribution pledge of $600.00 to this cause, with your help this total will grow to support more kiwi's to realise their happy potential. We would like to thank sponsors Aotea Souvenir's Queenstown, Avoca, Sugru, Campbell Irvine Insurance, Rationale and DO for their support and gifts to share on the journey. And our darling kids Chali, Sophie and Phoebe for understanding that next school holidays will be without us once again. Thanks in advance for contributions support and for sharing the news of our journey. We hope you enjoy following the Rickshaw Run. Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/RickshawRunGoodbyeCurryPie?ref=hl Updates and links www.todo.net.nz Tally Ho! #livemoreawesome everybody, we love you, x x
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I've had a synchronicity filled day - the kind that happens when you slow down enough to listen. The symbols and signals became really loud on the "Arrow Anniversary Walk", BOOM - today marks 22 years for me in Queenstown, I'd forgotten.. Today is also the first day I went for a run again, since this time last year, determined to start my Rickshaw Run training, also the day a fellow rickshaw runner posted a great article about culture and why we travel on Farcebook. It's a good read.
http://elitedaily.com/life/culture/true-travelling-blues/812862/ Fast forward to a random phone call this evening from a journalist; seems like a nice lady, I checked Linked In to make sure I wasn't being had by a sophisticated computer hacker acting as if they want to share our Rickshaw Run story. Throw back Monday to "Scott" of the January Run launch party New Years Eve Jaisalmer India 2014 , and his great cover story of being journalist for Playboy covering the run. Also telling the truth. The Rickshaw Run flow has begun - prompting me to update our website links and charity donation pages because our intention is out there. We are going back to give it another go. To raise more money for our charities Live More Awesome and Cool Earth this time to drive a Rickshaw across the top of India in April 2015. Like our Facebook page to follow the journey. read the blogs below to hear about the last one or find a link to Scott's report. https://www.facebook.com/RickshawRunGoodbyeCurryPie On the last day of the Run I cried at that last Indian sunrise, I cried many times that day right up to our finish #69 last across the line. I've been unable to ditch the chai masala and crave Dahl when ever I'm feeling flat, I'm in search of a yoga guru - turns out this journo may just know a bit about that. They say you never recover from a visit to India the longing to go back is incessant. I've been as LM say " Doing the f'n work" - on the D.A.R.E. program and have "finished" the book manuscript ready for publishing this month. It's a bit like the run, a lesson in determining your end point - how do you know when you are really done? When are actually at the end of a journey? How often are you back at the start aware that you haven't even started? Have you done the work? Have you negotiated the journey with any style? Where's the proof in the pudding, the signed off ending? This year has been hard we've lost family and friends. The planet's been scared and become more terror filled, to leave the shores of NZ and our children again next Easter seems more foolish than it did last Christmas. There are couple of scary states - in India and our heads. All the more reason to go again. Our charities both embody one guiding principle. Living matters. Live More Awesome www.livemoreawesome.com support mental well being in NZ and encourage epic events as a way to rise the profile of how we can tackle depression. Cool Earth saves rain forests and in doing so create a better world where we can all live more sustainably. I'll post when the donate links are active again and let you know our fund raising epic events between now and the next Run. Jaisalmer to Shillong across the top of India in 11 days April 2015. Go on I D.A.R.E. ya, do something epic. To demonstrate learning you have to show you know. That AHHHAAA moment when we get it varies for each of us with every lesson. It generally comes after incubation. The determining factor as to whether we are quick learners or slow. My dad once remarked to me - Lisa sometimes it's like you need to get a whack on the back of the head with a piece of 4 by 2 to get the lesson. I thought we'd leave Goa for our 6th state Karnataka and be straight into verification. This should be the easy bit the push for the finish and celebration of the last dash. In flow flow, rush rush, all systems go. We could proceed to the stop. It was all over bar the shouting. Lurking in the back of ones mind is always the what if ...What If... 3006kms is really to far for an auto to stay together and transport us safely. What if we don't make it in time for the finish line. Our frame is now severed in two at both weld points on the roof. We have used everything in our kits except the freeze dried kiwi meals and the tow rope. We are over the fun stuff and it seems that the last three days blurs into the dust of India. We roar out of Goa heading South with the first sign of discontent in everyone's navigation and mood set. None of us can quite get our insides to agree to a gut feel on if we should take the main highway or the coast. Our data is not cooperating, we've lost trust in which roads will be the best, coastal , smaller or highways and we are starting to blow up our gear. We are still all being nice to each other across teams with no one quite wanting to take the dominant role and visibly bossy role to tell everyone's rumbly tums to shut up and go in any one direction. Inside the tuks marital pressure is building as road weary and dreading the end of the journey everyone gets a bit over the road and our significant others. We all think we know what we are doing and all our versions of how to do this are our own and no one elses. We don't get far before Sweetie pie starts to choke. It's a Sunday and we are meant to be pushing 300kms today. We sulk into the only Christian village we have settled in for weeks. Every body is at church. Approaching our taxi rank knights in shining armor the crowd is not that welcoming they pretend interest and the self appointed mayor duly arrives to see what it is that we need before we can push off out of town. It's hot, it stinks and this place is so basic there is no one selling bottled water, the hotel for a coffee stop sparks terror at the thought of being stuck here, there sure as Bethlehem does not appear to be any rooms at this Inn. There are two men asleep or expired on bench seats in the dark interior and the proprietor is high and toothless, empty bottles line the counter tops waiting to be refilled with grog, the only food is a mound of fried piled high in a beyond filthy cabinet, we are not sure if they take our order as they don't reply, they apparently do but they serve us outside . Is that because they know how we feel or they don't want us to come back in? They are so wary of us I can't give away any pens. I manage to give one young boy some all black stickers and a ruler and pencil set but an elder rips it out of his hands and reads every possible label to work out what the tide has bought in. Edwards indulgences in the Arabian Sea are creating waves in his gut and he sleeps while we wait for god to materialise a mechanic. Our Sunday is vanishing and morphing into a true day of rest. We can't move or do anything. An hour slips by- the tuk tuk is cool enough to move forward. And they run us out of town. 5 -10 kms away there is a promise of someone ungodly enough to help us out and the mayor has sent a runner who relays us in that direction. Every km or so he vanishes from our lead. The engineer is earning his full degree by coasting sweetie down hills so that fuel can flow into the engine enough to provide faltering putt power up the next hill before she chokes again. The relay runner reappears with another family member on the back of his motor bike. To be introduced and to get a pen. His daughter, son and wife in 10 kms we verify them all. The first mechanic up a side street ignores us literally and our scout decides to abandon us as well. He cautions us to stay put. By now Sweetie is too hot to trot and Ed's gut is about to show us all it knows it's in India after all. Worlds fastest kiwis are demonstrating incredible patience and resilience as they are still breakdown free I'm sure they'd love to gloat. We wait on the road side for help to arrive. Every one loses the plot as Edward has to fulfil a road side emergency evacuation. Making each of us retch we can verify that swimming in the Arabian sea is the biggest risk to health. None of us has been ill from food. But Edwards arse ejects half an ocean, and Warrick and I have ear infections setting in, Heather is congratulating herself for choosing a pedicure over a swim. Though the joke is almost back on her when she side steps Edwards drain painting - just. Our guide reappears and whisks Edward away to the promise of mechanical genius. The universe picks up flow again and Sweeties carb is cleaned of crap. All of us feeling a lot freer head South, keeping Edward hydrated and moving admiring his resilience as he sleeps at every Chai stop and makes good use of the vegemite and electrolyte emergency supplies. By night time he has come right again. A university city a lovely hotel, great food and books of intellectual genius on nano tech and heart surgery remind us that India rivals the world in many fields. We are reassured enough to eat chicken and tuna club sammies for breakfast. The kms swallow each other interminably - stop and proceed - every 100 kms we stick rigidly to our strategy to get through the distance. 3 days to do the last several hundred the journey now feels long, dirty and over dhaled. The last night on the road we optimistically head for the coast again. A resort found on line and booked with the typical fury at data that teases by dropping out of credit card authorisation more times that we can curse. Panic sets in and the first hint of competition as we roll up to the door of our last resort to the sight of more teams. Have they booked? Have they taken our rooms? A frenzy of walking faster than one would like to appear as the Italian, Swiss, Swedish, Kiwi 100m dash ...we calm ourselves enough to secure our beds. Singles and we can't get the hot water to work. Marital harmony is terse in both camps. We are up before sunrise for our last pack up and each person is in their own bubble. Hovering on the edge of the last state. None of us feel in a celebratory mood. We fit out the tuks in near silence worlds fastest kiwis have a detour to navigate as luxuriating for so long on the journey is a time restraint to catching up with their friend in Kerala en route today. He is temptingly close to the hghway and a long way from the finish should they decided to visit him on the way. The thought of us having to cross the finish line separately after so long together is weighing heavily with each of us for our own reasons. The thought of perhaps not making it to the finish line at all is for the first time a reality and it's not helping any of our states of calm. We are all good on the outside yet you can feel it underneath, as each person deals with what the last day on the road together will bring or not bring. Are we over it? We are so far from the end that we can't be. It's all the clichés in the world, so close and yet so far. The show we know; the Ahha factor this morning on the 14th of January is that we may have left our last dash to the 7th state of celebration a little late. Kerala - are we there yet. Can the celebrations begin? Cut off is at 4pm this afternoon. And if I ever had to learn the lesson of being very careful what you ask for because you will get exactly what you expect then today is the day. "We are going to need every single minute of today" will forever haunt me - my mantra of the morning repeated so often the gods delivered it with glee. I used it to encourage Warrick to meet up with his friend once we cross the finish line. I should have used it more when we stopped for our last chai break and 100 km cool down. Why not just push on through and keep an hour up our sleeves. As we pull out of Kappad in to the dark of the last dawn I'm crying. Crying at my last set up of sweetie, my last day of the journey my last sunrise on the road and just crying because I can in the back. Theme songs are on repeat. Everything seems in technicolour. The streets are full of early morning rituals and my ahha radar is triggered everywhere - India is in her glory. It's time to celebrate our learning. How we have come to love her and how we all realise our lives have been altered for ever by time in her presence. Time is not on our side. The first village is full of people in the streets loud speakers, hundreds of men and boys in white. Bands, acrobats, crowds of women smiling and watching. Cool very cool. By the second village, third and fourth we begin to get suspicious. Has Matt Dickens Rickshaw Run master gone overboard on the celebratory budget and arranged crowds to wave us slowly through each town on our last 200 kms to the finish? If so they are starting to get in the way. 5kms per hour is not going to get us to Kochi by 4pm. There are flags, and people thrusting cups of juice at us, bags of sweets at us and packets of biscuits. It's a party. Just not ours. Mohammed's birthday and it's a big one indeed. By lunchtime temple duty is done and the roads clear for just a moment. Then it's into industrial action and agitation. The highway is blocked by chunks of concrete, barbed wire and trash every few hundred metres another barrier. No point lifting the tuks over though we try. As a little up the road another and another and another. The roads are manic, there are buses abandoned and trucks parked the wrong way in one way alleys. It dawns on us this is deliberate. Matt Dickens upping the anti again? Or protesting truckies and auto drivers who find the toll roads are crippling their lively hoods. I kick myself for not being RAS activated to a place name while reading a newspaper announcement of todays agitation three days ago. And the sign in the post office advising that the 14th of march they would close. The agitators and birthday celebrants are planned and organised in their chaos. Police and military vehicles appear to have also missed the memo they are as jammed in the chaos as we are unable to stop or proceed anywhere. Auto drivers as friends in disguise are directing traffic back on itself and it takes us an hour to realise that the brown uniforms will not show us the way this time when feeding us around and around in circles, data not supporting our journey, no live maps at the right time to get us on track we are back at the start with adrenalin mounting. Lost. Every cell in our bodies is screaming at us. We did not come here not to finish this journey. Various internal dialogue becomes external, The realist Edward saying we are never going to make this by 4pm. Me the optimist coaching him - Do not put that thought out there we have the perfect amount of time to do what we need to do, we can do this! I'm not sure how WFK were feeling each team is communicating the bare basics, worried we will lose battery or each other before we get the last direction across. The rickshaw run is not a race it's a fund raiser. We know this and have lived and breathed this. Insurance won't cover you in something as hair brained as racing a tuk tuk from one end of India to another. We have gone back forwards to prove it and managed to be well behind the pack all the way. Today though we become manic. We must finish this on time. Before the finish line closes at 4pm. A did not finish just is not an option. the race for the finish is on. Willing time to slow down as tuk tuks speed up. We get lost trying to avoid the protesters and then take a long way round to get back on track. In our panic Edward and I have blown up the inverter by attaching the cables to the wrong battery terminals and all our devices are now flat. We have no maps, no theme music, no phones and no clock. We are relying on radio to WFK's and their battery life is limited too. At a set of traffic lights with a spectacular digital countdown we run out of fuel. Like a le mans pit crew we leap out and throw our last of the two-stroke cocktail mix at the rear of each tuk tuk, spilling it on our feet slightly thankful you can not smoke in Kerala while Heather counts us down. We have 11 mins until the finish line and 13 kms still to cover. We are screaming at each other and willing our machines to keep going. Manic laughing and celebrating the chaos the locals act like the village idiots are in town. They politely look away at the road in front, check their voice mail and pretend we don't exist at the lights. Kochi must be immune to the madness , it reminds me of Aussie ski week at home. At 4pm, 1600 hours Kochi Kerela gods own, with all our facebook followers in the dark at our last lost post we scream around a random corner to see the finish banner in our peripheral on our right. Shoulder banging back seat drivers screaming, both tuks slide in to base camp in a cloud of dust with us hysterical and crying - "Are we in time?? - You did say 4pm on the 14th of January didn't you Matt?" We can't stand, we can't walk - team 68 and 69 across the line, we scribble our names on the finish sheet before they can pull it down. The deed is done and we are fully undone. The finish line is quiet except for us. Other teams sip coconut juice and look rested, lines of neat and orderly tuks stripped of their gear fill the yard. Ten teams are unaccounted for but there are no bugles to celebrate us being the last. One would think that was it the adventure over - until Matt tell us he needs the machines back NOW - it throws our celebration we forget to do finish line photos or to smile for the media. We head to our hotel where the staff line to welcome us and we ignore them throwing belongings off the roof reattaching rear doors and finding insurance papers. Our manner does not stand us in good stead for the rest of our stay as they show us as much consideration as we did to them for the next couple of days. It is only on the ferry to the finish party that we realise we are truly done, spent and wrung out. The four of us separate for a few moments. Edward runs off to join the start line crowd, there are fireworks and near arrests and crowds pushing us onto the ferry - we are each one a part of the mass and as we pull up to the party with the fairy lights and ungst ungst music we reconfirm that the 7th state has been reached by all on board and the celebration really can start. It becomes apparent that this journey will never end. Our teams are split for the first time in 14 days. Warrick has caught up with his friend, we nearly lose Heather as she slips between the boat and the wharf. We begin to understand that we are going to be apart again and that we won't be able to be there to support each other through every challenge and adversity. The celebration is cathartic - wild dancing, loud sing songs, nations of the world united in a journey of a country that we all have achieved apart. We are aware that our lives are forever changed that our facebook friendships with each other will remain and that one day on another adventure we all promise to meet again. The dawning of learning is that you can not separate out the seven states of learning each intertwined as it is in the other, you celebrate the preparation, the globalisation, initiation, elaboration and incubation. The verification will be there for the rest of our lives. With every decision and moment that follows India we show we know. The understanding that life; any life is great and should be honoured. That risks must be taken and that what appears dangerous to some is common place to others. That what appears safe is where the real risks lie after all. And that beauty exists everywhere at every moment you just have to drive slowly enough through life to enjoy it. Each day you pick a route and create your own realities. What you say , who you meet and where you stop or proceed mark the journey. Friendships are made and cemented on the Rickshaw Run and runners whether we spend moments or lifetimes together will always be family. Thank you Edward, Heather, Warrick, Mr Matt Dickens, 200 participants, 78 teams, all the charities our generous sponsors supporters and friends on the journey. And thank you mother India for India is great. Learn to pause or nothing worthwhile will catch you up - Doug King When doing the winter Rickshaw Run through India - the icing on the cake is the thought of Goa. Like badges of honour: Getting there first, Staying there the longest and Partying the hardest are three definitive trophies of run success. This is the primary target for R&R; pushing pause and having fun. To rest up, swim and relax. To hop out of the Auto maybe leave it alone for a day. Be tourists, like any other in India, once again be part of a visitor throng. In accelerated learning Incubation is the 5th state. The mind must have a down time for new knowledge to infiltrate the subconicious, for the lights to come on and the Ahhha to take place. Goa our fifth state in India is the perfect place to Do so. It's one of those iconic beach retreats that you wish you had done in your wild and reckless youth and you believe you may still be able to claim that just by being there. You imagine all the bad things you'll do, smoke again, drink too much, sleep too little. The trouble you'll almost get into, the tiny bikini's you'll have to fit into, the beachfront huts that you'll luxuriate in. So much of incubation is anticipation it's challenging to slow yourself down enough to make the rest occur. We rolled into Baga on the recommendation of a group of stags from the Ivy restaurant of Indiage country - the best party beach by far, not long before sunset with no accommodation and the unsettled feeling that a lack of security on Maslows hierarchy of needs creates. We hit the shore one of our team already missing. Heather has jumped ship at the first guest house that looks the part and secures us a place for the night. I was ecstatic. Team argy bargy erupted as the boys wanted to go straight to the bar and the ocean and sort out de-rigging later. It was hard enough to pry passports out of their grip and park in front of the hostel but female sensibility prevailed and we stripped the tuks as far as the foyer and headed for the sand and base beats. The shot of us walking to the ocean is one of our favorites of the trip - it looks as though we are returning home from the front line, battle weary and filthy, it's how we felt. The lure of that sea front the smell of the salt was as close to heaven as we could imagine knowing we still had a long way to go before home. When we hit the first bar we could hardly contain ourselves. Cocktails or swims both - right on sunset. The road grime incredible Baldy's feet lily white were not the result of sunburn but the shit that India throws at you from a full day on the road. It was seafood for dinner, laser lights on the sand, Russians everywhere. The days effects were felt and we quietly almost guility least someone should see us pike early crawled off to our beds. Realising that as much as we thought we would party we were already spent. Turns out I was incubating something real. That child's sneeze in the land of Sai dealt it's blow - flu, the one vaccine I had not had and perhaps the greatest risk factor in an Indian winter with no local immunity. A fever , the chills and a restless night swearing at large rodents on the grass roof of our hut. Baga be buggered we were going to need somewhere a little more peaceful if we were going to rest up. Day 2 our only rest day we head North to Ashvem beach - in the absolute opposite direction to the finish, nothing like putting even more kms between you and the end of your adventure to really make your brain realise you are taking this break seriously. Our friend from NZ Stu has suggested Yab Yum resort - and yum it is indeed. Hobbit huts on a white stretch of sand. Flu or no flu I swim, we rest read, sleep and shop. Still not able to stay out of the Rickshaws for a day - Heather and I nab homeware for home at the local market. Copper dishes,and cookware, curry powders, bindi's, yoga mats, all things Indian to ensure we have something of this journey to connect us to this space for the rest of our lives. There are massages to be had, but we still can't bring ourselves to party large. The worst behaviour becomes camera hams and our daily ritual of hysteria googling inappropriate things said by Prince Philip while travelling. A decade too late for Goa in our veins, only one team member ventures to the night club on the hill and we are sure he must have dreamt it as he was sleeping when the rest of us went to bed. Day 3 in Goa and we are starting to feel just a little restless at being further from our goal than a few days ago but not yet ready to leave Goa. We head just a tiny way South to Palolem beach. A stop en route to send our purchases courtesy of India Post is a fascinating glimpse of the system again. The man pictured here is sewing a bag for our shopping to go in. One counter at the post office is operating for everything though there are half a dozen others staffed for no observable purpose. The process is rigid even a man trying to send home a bag of cashew nuts across state needs a little cloth bag stitched up. Surprisingly it all gives us perfect faith that our good will arrive in NZ possibly even before us. And we happily stand reading notices in the post office and enjoying glimpses into how people apply for licences, pay registrations and send money while we all cluster around the same teller. It feels great to send home the winter wardrobe from Rajasthan the weather is finally hot enough to overcome the chill of tuk travel in the early morning, so puffers, ski gloves and warm hats have been stripped from our belongings. Palolem is paradise and our hut is truly beach front. A moment of concern its the first night we have not been near the tuks and it means a shlep with all our gear past pigs eating polystyrene and stray dogs weaving down back alleys to the foreshore 200 metres of so with all our luggage for less than 12 hours here... it seems a hardship without porters. How quickly we've become used to having everything yet nothing done for us. A last night of feasting on seafood, long island ice teas and excitement building for the finish just two states to go literally and figuratively. Karnataka our 6th state - Verification - time to show we know. And then onto Kerala and the finish , the ultimate learning state of celebration. Rested and feeling completely at home sights that would have bamboozled us look fully normal from the way they burn there lawns off when things get too long. To the long drawn out registration process with our temporary visas. My cold is breaking, it's hard to get started again. We are dreading the finish because it means it will be over and the last stretch ahead seems hard work after our fun in the sun. We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. Caress the detail, the divine detail - Vladimir Nabokov Elaboration when you are into the journey is as inevitable as it is incredible. How we can recall every small detail of our experiences yet not how many times we have told the same person, listening patiently to our travel sagas, bored with image after image of holiday photos. It's the detail that makes a journey life changing, makes the learning permanent and that carries the most impact. The smallest of things or the synchronicity of flow, where events group and cluster themselves to have pattern or meaning to the learner, the observer, yourself. Sometimes it's even when you are doing nothing at all that the elaboration takes hold and you find yourself swallowed in the wonder of sights and smells. Or when the once surreal becomes so common cameras are away because we have enough camel shots. Day 9 on a road side shot I spot graffiti on the DO logo - who dares to suggest option A... Do nothing? A quick camera roll audit shows the molestation was pre race start. It's right in front of me yet I've failed to see it and Edward is quick to pick up on the point that without any driving hours under my belt and his commandeering control of the music it would appear to describe my role well. Maharashtra was our fourth state in India. Where routines were established and the patterns emerged. We were living on tenterhooks waiting for breakdowns that for World's fastest kiwi never came. Expecting the roads and challenges to become insurmountable. Plans for what we would do should a team fail to run a police check point. A forward route and time to head back North to see something spectacular are all the cul-de-sacs that elaboration take you on. By the finish line Curry pie had been to the shop four times. Nowhere near the mechanical darma we had pre planned for. We quickly learnt if it ain't broke don't fix it. And the engineers became so adept with #sugru, number 8 wire and gaffer tape that evenings in the hotel room were rarely workshops. Our chassis snapped at the roof line, a weld broken, realising that even with a broken frame an auto offers no protection against any impact so we chose to gaffer it, bind the gaffer in #8 and tuk on. It didn't even register as a breakdown when the other side snapped as well. Our day 2 spark plug ejection had held up well to early repairs, the day in Sai town had fixed the clutch though we were not 100% convinced that had even been a problem. In Maharashtra some crap in the fuel line was sorted and that was it breakdown tally 4 at a push and I only had to DO that once. Some teams had more than 50 breakdowns and spent a lot of time in the shop. When you stop you just sit, until the person seemingly wearing the best clothes in the village we called the Mayor, would arrive and direct proceedings, enquiring why we were loitering in their town and arranging to accompany us to the rescue. If you were limping along you target an auto taxi queue. And if it's sunset - you find a hotel with a bar and hope that when she has cooled her lid sweetie will perform in the morning. The advice from pre run to never push your tuk more than 100 kms without a chai stop and an hour long cool down were our rituals to avoid more drama. We'd picnic on road sides, brave man towns for water bottles and loo stops and take dal with truckies and pilgrims. Our data would amuse and confuse with devices random as to where they would work. But most days by 2pm we had decided how far we thought we could push on and started to find a bed for the night. We'd battle data outages to try and book on line, this is still the holiday season and the best places are busy with travellers and we know Goa is going to be packed.Our strategy for accommodation had become based on comfort, food and laundry. Many runners will scoff, once we realised we were all about enjoying this journey we were seeking the boutique Indian experience. A chateau, the Ivy restaurant, a trip advisor listing - booked on line so they could not refuse us at the door. Nothing of course was as expected. The chateau had gone broke in the GFC when they started importing wine to meet demand and hit market evaporation and a currency crisis. The Ivy was great at keeping the Chateau Indiage wine cellared or was it just no one had been there post GFC to drink it? That's not to say we ditched local lodgings closer to 2 star all together the Sitara near Indiage provided us there most delux of rooms - though no power to that floor for a while and going up class mean going upstairs, many flights with much luggage and no porters here. We did find their linen cupboard so helped us selves to more sheets. While no cleaner they were folded giving the illusion of freshness and motivation to rise in the dark and depart before the light would prove how wrong that assumption had been. Pune and the golden arches. Touches of western comfort for breakfast a bacon and egg mc muffin a vege birger or chicken - way to a mans heart. We were becoming accustomed to the segregation of women or so we thought until Man Town Kolhipur where Heather and I were evicted from the hotel bar for being unaccompanied. And the feeling on road side stops in parts was that our comfort zone really was eating in the autos as inside a permit room went just too quiet with so many stares that our nerves were exposed. We had rituals of worship for our autos, fresh flowers in the morning and fuel stop functionality with storage of funnels and hoses to keep dust out of their carbs elaborate. When you finish the run people always ask how often you see other teams - not often. Well behind the main pack rumours tell of 32 teams in one bar going in Goa but they will be long gone by the time we hit there. We see a few of the girl teams with four in a tuk on route, enough for a drive by wave and toot session. Perhaps 5 mins on the side of the road to check in and see if everyone is doing ok. But apart from our two tuk twosome we are alone on the roads of India with her people not ours. We pass the Irish team member who is alone as his team mates have had to return home for a funeral and another tuk keeping him company. We hear the Koreans withdrew on Day 1 and that 3 tuks have rolled and more have flipped. We meet the team from Barbados a couple of times, they are ducking off roads to find temples in search of a new experience. The most common request when you meet another team is for Rizzlas which goes to show what many may be up to on the road. Excitement watching the donations to our charities growing we are blown away with how friends and family are contributing to these causes and excited to know that this epic journey for Live More Awesome is raising real cash to fight depression back at home in NZ. The charities of other teams are inspiring - The Italians have gone to visit their charity and cooked pasta for them. The Cool Earth guys are chatting to us on social media encouraging the journey and thanking us for the money we are raising. The tracking map haunts us the main pack are way ahead, though only 20 odd teams of the 78 seem to be posting. You text your position each night so mums and dads at home can tell the kids the days installment. We have no idea where we sit except towards the back but we are comfortable there in our elaboration of the journey, this long middle piece, early starts in the dark of morning, late finishes as night falls, eating up miles and pushing for Goa our rest stop , our party place, the next state - Incubation. A good traveller is one who knows how to travel with the mind - Michael Bassey Johnson Day 6 dawned, the beach in Daman deceptive in her glory - Baldy discovered the sunset sand was sewage, ankle deep, and any thought of a swim evaporated into the mould of our hotel rooms. Well rested from their true boys- night clubbing, all women everywhere were safely at home. The engineers had chanted and swayed with Daman property barons to the call of Sai Baba with no big picture that our initiation - stage three of all natural learning was about to occur in the Land of Sai. Mahararashta before us we picked a short cut through the mountains to Nasik and the wine country, of course. Sula is India's Montana wines, we'd consumed enough of it already to think we certainly needed to see where it was made and a short jaunt over the hills seemed entirely luxurious as we envisaged lunch or an afternoon in the vines. A short stop in a village to tinkier in our tuks rear ; Heather and I admire local metalware thinking what great salad bowls they'd make back home. A man with shelves of "Clit" car wash almost throws me a small figurine to add to our auto altar - Sai baba, retrospectively he was probably offended that I had offered to pay or that I swopped him a kiwi key ring. Still no idea that this was just a taste of the wonder of my initiation to all that Nasik and Maharashtra had up her sleeve. We set off feeling chuffed, organised, globalised and relaxed, this was day 6 after all, surely we all knew where s&*t was at. The roads were as promised in all the Rickshaw run promotional blurbs, GHASTLY! Pot holes bigger than an auto rickshaw no road let alone surface on the unsurfaced roads, trucks, trucks and buses and unrelenting dust, dust and dust. This is rural India, vast, empty and organised in it's own way. Dead dogs on the road lie bloated and fly feasted, a man sleeping with his head down a bank maybe dead? Each building a work of road side advertising, modern wells, collective living. Peasant dress splashes of colour, our modesty not an issue as we were covered mouth to eye, head to toe just to breathe and have a barrier between ourselves and all of India's dust. It took us 10 hours to cover 186 kms. Infrastructure study tour professionals we were excited to see road gangs preparing to fix the roads then we realised what we had been on they had fixed. The preferred methodology is the slightest smallest women bearing largest heaviest aluminium salad bowls full of rubble on heads. Hand filling pot holes, while just out of stagger range drums of tar were cauldron boiling modern witchcraft to tie it together, tipped like chocolate ice cream shells over the top. The red dirt base just ejected the offering making hokey pokey lumps to navigate around and threaten tyres, tail bones and time. Deceptive curb and channel with no road in between. Great wide expanse or a smooth surface invites a frenzy of manic overtaking until 50 m around a corner it all vanishes again into a mars scape and we were no rovers. NO military here then, not much of anything really, pristine in white; Muslim overseers direct the gangs who have no smile or wave for runners just a days hard labour to complete. A chai stop at the top of a hill met with Edwards "are you pharking serious" it was the cage of small unidentified birds for lunch at the door that we could not get him beyond so a road side picnic with a few wild dogs was preferred. The last 5 kms to Sula seemed to mock us with the blue dot taking us through places Google maps throws in just for laughs. Kids chased us back up alleys knowing we were doomed by dead ends and fords and that our Aotea Souvenir pen collection was deep enough and rich enough for every child in the village to score. Sunset was again upon us. Everyday racing the light, we headed for Beyond Resort, not surprisingly way way beyond Sula and screamed up to the door, security puzzled, abandoned ship for the first world and ran in to skull a bottle each as we laughed hysterical at how short our day had been. The only westerners with a bar tab big enough to cover every other guest in the place. We know we stand out like dog gonads as quiet voices, decorum and tasting are not the order of our day. We awoke on day 7 checking everyone for injuries, one of our party who shall remain nameless had fallen into bed with a full glass of shiraz courtesy of Sula the Sungod and the 400 thread count linen had taken the full brunt of it. Relieved that none of us have bled to death we haemorrhage money at check out, nothing like having to purchase your duvet to send the 5 star accommodation budget screaming past 6 stars. Keen to hop along to another vineyard, we felt in complete control of this run, so far behind the main pack who were already partying in Goa our strategy became milking every last moment of experience on the premis that in life no one gets out alive so we may as well be here for a good time if not a long time. Initation into India seemed complete, we were ready for a "repeat day" surely we must be out of new experiences sights and smells by now. We'd had the highways, the crap roads. The local dogy lodgings with sheets more stained than the luxury duvet we had just bought. We'd eaten roadside, street side and fireside. Our set up routine at the start of each day now a ritual. We had a gloat of a trouble shooting aura about us. The Bose had lost a three pin in the power board and #sugru had come to the rescue. The engineer had hard wired the plug straight into our power board and remounted the Bose on the front dash of the tuk so sounds were pumping. The air cooling system of engine door removal is working well and top speed down hill had been clocked at 60kms. We picked our morning bougainvillea offering to sweetie pie and the pinky bar and set off with bravado to tackle a teenie 135kms to Chateau Indage, cause that's how we roll. 5 km's in we realise the sweetie is in need of serious help, all along the road hordes of people wearing orange or carrying orange flower bedecked vessels with boom boxes blasting all are walking faster than our tuk will travel. We are limping along and pull up to the local auto taxi cab rank to ask help from the experts. After much frantic head wobbling and cries of mechanical! mechanical! from them not us we are escorted a few kms to more head wobbles and mechanical questions. Same guy, same one word answer I think he was so excited yet terrified that he had no idea if we really wanted and he didn't want to lead us a stray . His head was wobbling so fast it was adrenalin paced and we were all matching it and pushing our hindi translate app for all it was worth on words such as oil, and clutch and bearings as oblivious as he was as to what we really should do next. The orange wearers were growing, what I had thought was a funeral procession was changing surely into an industrial dispute - so many with banners and chanting and marching it had to be a call to action of sorts. This led us to the village of Shirdi, the place of pilgrimage for Sai Baba, he who taught no discrimination of any religion a path for darsharn for many if not all in India for us it was a mechanic that was to be our guru. We hit pay dirt but the man with the key was not there. 30 mins we were assured he would appear and fix our troubles. People were crowding, mobbing and more were arriving. We were given free water, chocolate, men were swooning , holding our hands, shaking our hands. babies were crying at our strange white faces . Out of the mass a beautiful princess appeared in a aquamarine sari, her English plum perfect she interprets and explains to the crowd what planet we have come from. She shares with us that some have never seen a European before, let alone touched one. And they all want to know how we got hold of our autos and why we have driven them on our pilgrimage to see Sai Baba. The penny drops, these have not been industrial hikois we have driven a chosen path. Half a million pilgrims on a holi day 25,000 when it's quiet. She is a teacher of English, though without the rupees required for her practising certificate she teaches in her home and in true British fashion she invites Heather and I to her house to take tea. We cross the street, the feminine crowd with us. Like a parting of the red sea the men stay with the autos but the female numbers swell to tidal. Every woman and her child in the village join us outside of her home. We are offered cups of water, as we deliberate whether to drink them a toddler at my knee sneezes full green directly into my face and cup taking away any doubt. Chai is served in the best china and question and answer time begins. We show I phone images of our children, while they ask us to take images of each of theirs. Fringes are brushed with fingers, mouths and noses are wiped on saris as each baby is presented for their image. We tell our ages, exchange our secrets, how long we have been married, how our child birth was and how homes in New Zealand are run. It is precious, each moment a jewel. The sisterhood and sharing the children and the caring. Heather and I are trying to inhale it as we did the dust yesterday. Aware of how very special this bridge across worlds is and how without initiation into the feminine of India you have not been welcomed at all. Our English teacher hostess asks if we would like to step inside and see photos of her brothers. We cross the threshold and slip into her cool parlour where she lives with two sisters and her mother. The proud glossy images of her brother in the police force, he's climbing ropes, holding big guns, buff, handsome, rose tinted cheeks in hand touched images. A portrait of her father hangs on the wall, her mother welcomes us to their spotless living room. This is a two room dwelling; one for living one for cooking. Her mother is my age her husband has been dead more than 10 years, she looks 70, we realise the burden she has carried for her 4 children is India's largest salad bowl. The other women cluster at the windows, staring in, the brave asking questions which are translated and answers hurled impatiently back by our host. The excitement of the family is palateable. A sister who is at work is rung to talk to us. Paper and pens are produced for addresses and future contacts. When our princess hostess feels enough is enough she abruptly pulls the curtains shutting out the other women and giggles and claims us for her self. After a while I return to the children, their faces and smiles making me miss mine I want to be with them and play. I head back to sweetie and a horde come with me. We put on music and have an auto rave. I have children beside me in front of me on top of me and next to me. Holding my hand, stroking my clothes or babies frowning and crying when I look their way. We are laughing together as only children can laugh. A little one Phoebes age and size with a pixie crop cut makes me homesick, I want to scoop her up and tickle her to hear her giggle again and again it is the same at age 6 in any language. A girl my Sophie's age dibs me Auntie, she is on the verge of puberty, about to loose the innocence of childhood. Already a baby on her hip and the voice of command with those younger, she senses freedom and asks if she can come with us, to help, to guide us South, to stay for ever in New Zealand. Older women offer me food, they chase away teen boys and tell the men who have gathered again on the fringe in no uncertain terms to move away and stay away. Heather has remained in the house they are applying henna to her hand, the marriage markings to stop all harm. They instruct us not to shake hands. the men they say have no good intention, they will not wash that hand and will put it to no good use! Every male I have held out my hand too flashes before me, I shudder. Heathers henna is glorious and once she wears this badge of honour stretching up the inside of her palm and inner arm, traditional and calming the men show us both more respect, and we keep our hands by our sides. If the third stage of learning is initiation, the introduction to the true content, where you get to know what it is that you are to learn then the land of Sai has been our initiation. We have begun our haji at last , the mechanical has been completed, the men have shown the guys their marriage hall as a badge of honour. We drive off with them certain we are off to see their Sai Baba, instead for us we are headed South still 100 or more kms to go until we find our Chateau. This day has touched our hearts, no repeat, just pure magic. We drive out of Shirdi knowing we have now found India. I cry more than once, the beauty swelling my heart. Thinking of the child who wanted to come South with me refusing to let go of my hand, the grandmother who had rushed across town as word spread of our presence bringing her boy to be photographed just before we left, and the drunken man who cried at our beauty and strangeness. Sai baba town - thank you... guru not required your people are the key to your eternal city. Generations to come will scarcely believe that such a one as this ever walked upon this earth in flesh and blood. ~~~ Einstein (about Gandhi) Delhi, India www.pratheep.com #Sugru is #fixing the future. In the natural learning framework there are seven stages of exposure. Globalization the second state it's where your brain comprehends the big picture, the context, it forms the nest for learning. The petri dish in which all experiences to follow will be mixed and held together. Our second state in India was Gujarat. Birthplace of Gandhi, location of the three "must not go under any circumstance" locations on the Southern Rickshaw Run. Big hills that require sophisticated air cooling systems rural life basics are punctuated with great infrastructure. Our preparation felt complete, we had #sugru on the butt plug of our inflatable kiwi to hold his air in. #Sugru held the new battery to the floor and our protector Ganesh to our tuk alter - we now had a place for everything and everything in it's place. We had this! We had everything except for the slip of paper with the no go places in Gujarat and the back up picture of the briefing power point slide that WFK took as we thought we had the slip of paper. We headed in to the big picture blind. Day three dawned dark, after two nights in cloud-nine-marshmallow beds, glamping at Manvar desert camp and as valued guest of Ajit Bhawan, Lorde royal. Well feasted with fine friends in Oms family environment emersion dinner. If any of the others had suggested we just put the tuk on a truck and linger in Jodphur I might have... Instead they were waving the tracking map of the brave bold who were already through Gujarat. We were lolling in the first state, waking up to the fact that the hardy who hit Barmer, Day 1 - may not have been that barmy. We had used all our excuses, sweeties spark sorted, shopping in the custody of India Post, we could now easily spot a maharajah in a crowd. There were no more five stars on the map. Getting the big picture in Gujarat is a staff Induction process. You can try and skirt around it, miss it out altogether, try going - the long way to learning. Maybe you decide you'll race through it, holding your breath. Or immerse yourself in it and wallow in the lesson. What ever path you choose - you can not not participate, defined as much by inactions as actions - Gujarat was the state that tested our preparation. Time to go to work. Rajasthan sensing we were slipping through her grip got real and delivered head on truck smashes a double fatality, bull rush with pink buses of death, 12 lane highways the width of 4, both sides moving 2-way through extreme road works and no road marking. We were reassured Gujarat roads would be amazing. Where there is military in India there is infrastructure. Huge wind turbine blades were on the road with us.We were masters of surfing; drafting trucks, running toll gates waving and smiling at police pull overs; we kept on tukking. We stood toes on the edge of the high diving board of crossing our first border. A wake up call at a local lodging house where our market mattresses are on top of stained beds and showers may or may not be heated by wood burners our accommodation budget smiled and got itchy. We were given a private room for dinner - to hide us as much as treat us. We carried the honour of runners, free use of a motorbike to go in search of fruit. Stepping over the bodies of truckies sleeping on the floor to leave early, the lodging service was faultless, but we stood out like beef burgers. Drinkers of alcohol, white, loud voices and free with our affection between men and women. It was the point when we could have turned around and climbed back down the ladder - but we jumped in over the border to our second state. Our unlimited data immediately stopped functioning. As did any presence of facilities on the road side. "Just label madam not real" blue dot blinking ceased to beat on a live map and if you needed to go you did. Gujarat is a dry state - Gandhi taught the lessons well. The sins of the western world are not visable. Previous runners may have created some bad rep, teams found no room at the inn to fit the rows of keys hanging behind reception. An advantage to unlimited data is booking on line we had Vadodara already locked in; Ahmedabad looked huge and too close we had pushed out the frame a bit far. Our longest day of endless monotony, chewing up the kms, scared we were travelling places we should not be, the police checks and toll stops more numerous we still ran them. A crew we were leap frogging had their auto commandeered by the officer they tried to ignore at a check point and were driven by him to the station to explain why four women would dare to be out alone, in a rickshaw ignoring a cordon. Adventurist job skill training stage 1 success when they giggled like little girls as instructed, gave photo opportunities and had chai masala to escape. Monkeys were sped past before we could see what they did with that. Knowing they could shred an auto of it's wiring faster than transmit a virus. Participants in another run more great race in format than our unsupported junket filled us in several states south that the monkeys were indeed the true bandits of India's roads, they trashed four of their tuks in seconds. With no data, and no clues, arriving at night into a modern Indian metropolis in rush hour there is only one outcome - find an tuk expert quickly and follow him through the mess. Keep an eye on his licence plate and ignore the bikes you hit or cars you sideswipe while keeping your eye on the prize. Our adrenalin rolled up to the Welcom Hotel filthy, thirsty and perhaps not that Welcom. Once we had showered and put on our posh clothes we were armed with a coveted licence to drink. In our rooms with wine bought from one of only 5 outlets in Vadodara handily in our hotel. Feeling more than a little disrespectful to Gandhi we toasted his peaceful endeavours. The door opened frequently to a person at the key hole, excellent proactive service or the secret service listening, wondering what we were getting up to. They rang us randomly with lost in translation assistance. Offering wireless codes at midnight, ironing boards to the wrong room but managing laundry at a speed that suggested the system was again working and that copies of our visas and documentation really had been taken for registration with the local police station. Islam swallowed me. At 176 million Muslims the Indian first were traders in Kerala and Gujarat is further up India's western coast. There has been tension in Gujarat and many have died for their cause. Birth rates of Muslim to Hindu are changing the face of India. Now 10 percent or so of India's population it seemed to us we had landed in the middle of the home state. Islam is audible, the call to prayer more than mantra. There is a silence too, people will not talk about the size or impact of elephant in the room, they won't tell you what you are doing to offend yet the lack of engagement is as palatable as a non veg kitchen. It's tangible in it's not touching of men in immaculate white dress. Visable as they oversee Hindu road gangs, are the merchants, the educators, politicians and property developers. Women in full cover - segregated, chaperoned and exotic. Advantages of being a runner and female are that the dirt and grime of the road and high malaria risk in Gujarat has us well covered. We have scarfs to keep warm against the morning and evening chill, #buff bandanas to cover hair or breathe through, clothed and not out after dark as none of us have cracked the seal on our anti malarials. Our state has changed. We don't feel as welcome here, people are as likely to look away or past you as look at you and children are cautioned not to approach for our give aways. Instead of WOW .. you are doing that faces we face WHY are you doing that? We've got the big picture and we are really out of context. We are the infidels and all our flaws are on display. Is it that we want out of Gujarat or that they really want us out? The big picture is like a trailer, the film where nothing bad has happened yet but the lighting and music put you in suspense. We pushed through it, covering as many kms with as few stops as possible. "Are you f'n serious?? As chai stops became why stop? The coast calling, rumours of a small haven, an independent state existing on the edge of it. Within striking distance the folk from Mumbai head to the sea and party. Gathering in groups in night clubs is a threat to bombing in Bombay so oasis like the bay of Daman has taken that place. Certain that Daman is the answer to ease our nerves we choose it as the third state of learning. Initiation. We vote that Gujarat become our fastest transit. We leave the state to those who love it and I think they are quite glad to see us go. I probably did too much thinking in India. I blame it on the roads, for they were superb...” Preparation - RajasthanBoxing Day 2014: The day to Live More Awesome. Seven stages of the natural learning framework. Preparation is the first stage. Clinging to trappings of first world consumerism mandatory burger on departure. 22 hours later taste India at work. 10.30 pm: Slap Mumbai tarmac, impatient for smells. It's been the pre chat from those who have been before me. Would it be like diving in a pool, drowning, moist, ...ghastly? RAS activated mind looking for familiarity; collision with difference. Manila floated, comforting pre paid taxi system sign, baggage claim icon, and an immigration line that moves. Less machine guns than the Philippines, India is fine! Until our visa's... All pre trip reading indicated that kiwi's can rock up and apply for - visa on arrival. Certainly Sir - once doing the needful, $100 US dollars and an evening worth of entertainment, a visa stamp is produced for each passport. It took four and a half hours, comforted by others there longer. Passports; not ours, examined for fraud, lights and enlargers throw backs to OHP's of school circa 70's. Detainee and deportation whiteboards, scrawls of Hindi, dates, flight numbers keep an aura of respectability to proceedings. Triplicates, no carbon. We remark often in the days to follow - The system actually works. Ejected from the airport, soft Mumbai air, peaceful and more quiet than I'd thought at 2.30 am. Only one beggar well dressed, well fed, obligatory sleeping baby at the hip, our hotel driver describes her as a professional. To soon to judge but years of Asia kick into action I tune out the harshness and hope he is right. Edward starts to chat to her as he continues to DO to all until we leave nearly a month later - Them ...Where you going? Where you from? Him: Thank you - India is great! Instead of a breakdown tally I wish I'd kept count of these statements or that we would somehow earn donations for the charities each time they were uttered. First State - The Land of Kings#Aoteasouvenirs Queenstown donated kiwi mementos to team Goodbye Curry Pie to give to those who facilitated our journey. Puns are essential to pimping an auto rickshaw. A Dingo Tuk Tuk My Baby, Rogan Josh and the Hot Chick Peas, Kicking it Sari Style, The Krazy Jalfrazzi's, Miles of Smiles, Worlds Fastest Kiwis, as soon as you stumble upon a good one it's the first hook that gets you to sign up for a run, you'll see... We wanted to profile New Zealand and share the love of learning and a NZ encounter. Our first #Aoteasouvenirs wind up kiwi was awarded to newly wed Balrun of the Jodphur Raas hotel, recently he left his new bride in New Delhi with his family while she studies. He headed off to a great role at the Raas, and I totally understand the pull for both of them. This hotel was our ritual arrival to India, in the old walled city, the call to prayer preparing our state immediately. A perfect host, representing a suberb establishment. Much learnt to share from the Raas for DO customer service workshops. Our first connection with people living in this rapidly developing environment, a decadent experience, food, sounds and service all above top notch. Understanding what it is to live as a young professional, goals and aspirations, same same but different to those in tourism in NZ. We explore the old city, marvel at the infrastructure and lack of it. Water is gold, wells and ghats, low and littered. The fort cursed with a dry spell that saw a man buried live in the foundations. State rooms and 5 star hotels, imagining the lives of cloistered women in the fort, a palm reader tells me I'll live to 85 - 90 , thank you Allah that covers the next couple of weeks then. Practical steps ticked off team to DO lists. Map hunting the side streets we hit pay dirt with a geography lesson archive wonder. A mission to find our "pee skirts" almost goes nasty when Heather and I are surrounded and hounded. You really are fine until you are not. SIM card set ups and the illusion of unlimited data. Not real madam just sign ....or not real madam just label - Another BFO to haunt the journey as data plans took days to activate and cut out with every state border or cow crossing. Sometimes tech worked sometimes tech didn't, 6 devices between two teams we managed coverage of some sort right up unitl about 15 mins from the finish when all systems went down. But that's 3006 kms away, in the first state of Rajasthan it's all about preparation. A driver found for the journey to Jaisalmer - great training for the start. Om Singh is King, friend, family and facilitator. The keys to Rajasthan. Horn, brakes and good luck. Don't let www.theadventurists.com create any illusions that the event is supported. Autos are almost guaranteed to have no fuel and not start when they were handed to teams, insurance papers are the wrong format and will be emailed out later - just find somewhere to print them on the journey. There is a carnival like atmosphere with tents selling stereos, drums of petrol spilling onto the sand, Beer and spark plug hawkers, the beer is cold but the sparks we will discover down the line don't fit. Pimpers are pimping, people are adding lights, dangly things, they are painting, panting and pushing their autos all over town making our presence a little obvious. Edward immediately starts to drive the pie. I get stage fright in front of 200 others who are dropping patches slamming into each other, tooting horns and decide I'll learn later, much later, like in my next life time. Heather and I volunteer for logistics and kit fit out. We head to the market to DO what it is that we DO best. SHOP. The challenge is which item is the least likely to give away your runner status. Once you are carrying a plastic jerry can, a funnel, electrical wire, and a mattress its hard to pull off the just visiting the Fort persona. The start line is that fine line between chaos and disorder, a respectful midday start after a huge night before - but what goes on tour at A Rickshaw Run start party New Years Eve remains sacred. One team member first to coma, one kiwi who flew across the Rang Mahal stage, A kiwi hat rape, and plenty of team bonding with other teams the irony of which we will not see them again until the finish. It's a moment of celebration, team spirit, royal speeches, bands, explosions, hugs and waves of wonder followed by the reality being alone on the road facing a super over in a freezing cold desert wind. Traffic, and miles and miles and miles and miles of India ahead of us. and 14 days to DO it in. Those who know the learning framework know the second state is Globalisation where you get the big picture, the overview, the context. To be framed up in the next blog - Jaisalmer to Abu Road. The big picture for us is that every team here is doing this for charity. For Cool Earth, for women, children's organisations, schools, orphanages, Frank Water, Brains Trust, WWF, charities in India, Charities around the world and our own LMA, so many missions so many messages, every single person committed to DO this thing for the greater good. The irony is that every fighter jet that roars over head patrolling the border with Pakistan could fund the building of a sewerage system with just one fly by cost analysis. The Fort is eroding due to raw sewage but the border is safe for now. The playboy journalist who has hitched a ride with another team seems more interested in base jumps and Queenstown than Rickshaws and India... If he is one that is - "The just card madam, not real" mantra - has me slightly sceptical that what he has is a great sales ploy, I'll bite my tongue when I see Scott's story, for all of you with Playboy subscriptions let me know when you see the article. Suddenly we get it. Every person here has been bitten by the run bug, meeting there own costs and generating funds and donations for someone else. Every team has different budget, different pilgrimage ahead of them different journey to undertake. they may have worked ahead of time for freebies and famils and sponsors, Be paying there way or sleeping rough and eating little. Every dollar spent or spilt on the ground here helping someone in India, Every dollar raised helping a charity. As the Maharajah with the royal eyes sent us on our way his thanks for doing this for India seems a paradox, thank you Mother India for doing this for all of us. I knew I can do the job in the 'Super Over' and I'm happy that I did it for my team — Yusuf Pathan after winning the match for Rajasthan Royals in the Super Over against Kolkata Knight Riders / April 23, 2009
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Team: Goodbye Curry Pie
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